


Open A Door And See

by Nantai



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Original Work, Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Tower AU, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Multi, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Pre-Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Pre-Peter Parker/Wade Wilson - Freeform, Satan comes instead of Santa, because I'm incapable of writing one without the other, chapter 17 is a placeholder until I get my shit together and write it, fifth mentions past suicidal thoughts in passing, in chapters 14 and 15, more fandoms/characters/tags to be added, the third drabble is basically Molly thinking about who's coming for Christmas, thomas nightingale is a dumpster fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nantai/pseuds/Nantai
Summary: Drabble collection for the 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge! Drabbles of varying lengths posted here and on Tumblr!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beverley Brook/Peter Grant, Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter, Miriam Stephanopolous/Pam, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23
Collections: 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge





	1. Snowflake (RoL Varvara Sidorovna Tamonina)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted on [Tumblr](https://evolutionsbedingt.tumblr.com/tagged/advent-fanfiction-frenzy)

Varvara watched the snow falling outside the window. She hadn't had a proper winter since she left Russia after the War. Well, left wasn't quite the right term of course. 

Running from Moscow, running from her surviving sisters, running from the blood on her hands. 

Of course, you can't outrun your guilt. That Varvara had learned much later when she started ageing in reverse. At first, she thought it was punishment for running. Returning her to the state she was in back when… 

Varvara put a fingertip against the glass where a small snowflake had landed. It pulled out an unexpected memory of playing in the snow with her brother when they were still small and the tsar was still in power. Years later she would follow him into the War, if not quite like she had planned. Varvara had wanted to join the snipers because she had heard that they took women there. But she wasn't good enough a shot and had been rejected. 

They had built a snow house early in November, but by early December its roof had collapsed and the walls were frozen solid. Then Sasha had decided that it would be a carriage from now on. They had taken turns in being robber and robbed, and sometimes they had friends over and it got even more interesting. 

Back then she had still been Varya and the most damage she could do was give her brother bruises. The longing Varvara felt now had little to do with innocence and more with family. She wouldn't trade her knowledge and her life, but to love like that again would be truly wonderful. 

Turning away from the window Varvara went to lie down on her cot in the corner of her cell. It was luxurious, nothing like the cells she had seen before, but it was still a cell. Rolling on her side Varvara tried to remember her mother and her father and her brother. 

She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks.


	2. Wish (Sherlock Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble takes place in the 'The Network' universe but can be read on its own!

Greg was nearly asleep, his head resting comfortably on Mycroft's chest, when both their phones started to vibrate. Groaning Greg turned around and blindly grabbed his phone from the nightstand. 

"Lestrade," he mumbled, too tired to open his eyes. 

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" a female voice asked in a tone Greg recognised as 'night-shift nurse who's absolutely done with your shit'. He was instantly more awake. 

"That would be me, what happened?" Greg asked, faintly hearing Mycroft ask someone else the same question. 

"You're listed as the emergency contact of one Sherlock Holmes. He's here at Bart's General and he has been severely injured, we need your permission for certain medical procedures," the nurse told him in a clipped voice. 

"Alright, I'm gonna be there in half an hour," Greg said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Did you call his parents?" 

"He said not to and since he offered your number in return we had no reason to," the nurse said unapologetically. "Just ask for Sherlock Holmes at the reception desk." 

With that she hung up the phone and Greg was left staring down at his. What had Sherlock gotten into now? 

"Was your call about Sherlock as well?" Mycroft asked, placing a gentle hand on Greg's shoulder. 

"Yeah, he's in Bart's and apparently they need me to sign off on some procedures," Greg answered, leaning into the touch. 

"He was chasing down a lead on one of your cold cases and apparently came too close to…some associates of mine," Mycroft remarked quietly. "We should get going, Anthea seemed worried." 

Greg nodded and pulled himself up. "I wish he wouldn't work alone on those kinds of cases. Or at least get some bloody training." 

Mycroft hummed in agreement. "If only it were that easy." 


	3. The more the merrier (Harry Potter Weasley Christmas)

The Weasleys celebrated Christmas like everything they did: with warmth, with love and with lots of food. Mrs Weasley had gotten so accustomed to feeding her whole family with the little they had that now after the war, with Arthur being promoted to Head of the Muggleborn Liaison office, she made even more food. 

Which was good because the family had grown considerably as well!

Bill and Fleur had their first child just last May, Percy had finally found love, a two for one package even because if you got Oliver you got Marcus as well, and George had something of a family of his own. 

He didn’t love Angelina in a romantic sense, but he loved her as a partner and together they had made the decision to adopt three pureblood siblings who were orphaned by the war. The oldest, Lucinda, had just started at Hogwarts and her brothers Domitian and Julius couldn’t wait to follow her big sister’s footsteps. 

Charlie, of course, had his dragons and since he had taken on the mantle of Dragon Foster Mum he had always at least two tiny dragons with him. 

Ron would bring his Significant Other with him for the first time since they started dating nearly two years ago in the States. He had been very secretive about them making his family only more curious. 

Ginny was bringing Blaise and Luna, neither of whom she dated but neither had had a true family Christmas before and the Weasley Christmas had always operated on the “the more the merrier” principle. 

Harry brought Pansy along and Hermione Draco, both somewhat unexpected since both Slytherins had refused the year before. 

Mrs Weasley was happy to see all her children happy and she felt as if the cooking went far easier than it had in years since before the War.


	4. Lights (RoL Varvara Sidorovna Tamonina)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say more Varvara content?

When the longing for freedom got too bad Varvara simply broke out for a few hours. The guards couldn’t tell the difference between her and her illusion sleeping (Varvara had waited for the first few times to check) because while the Starling had trained them in detecting her using magic she had seventy years of training and the lessons the War taught her on them. If she could hide in plain sight from werewolves she could hide in plain sight from some guards.

She slipped out through the air vents and an unguarded side door in the fence. In the woods, Varvara found her stash of clothing and the bike she had hidden there some time ago. She turned it towards the lights of London and kicked it into gear.

Varvara would have to be careful not to let the Isaacs catch her, but she was confident they wouldn’t be on the Russian Christmas Market she was planning to attend. It was the only piece of home she could have in this country. With proper pelmeni, and blini she would happily kill for. Tea served with jam, as it should be. And of course the good vodka, the kind you couldn’t get in the stores in the UK, or at least not unless you knew the right people. 

The market, lit by a thousand lights, was behind a row of blocks in a London suburb and when Varvara arrived she was greeted with hugs and kisses on her cheek. 

“Varusha, come, try this borscht!” Dima called from his booth and Varvara gladly went and chatted with him.

She made her way around the stalls and booths, accepting food and tea offered to her. Sometimes she insisted on paying, other times the booth owners acted as if she personally insulted them when she offered money for their goods. They knew she couldn’t buy anything substantial, even if they didn’t know why.

Varvara knew she could hide a few sweets during the next cell check, but the guards would notice anything she bespelled to be hidden. At least if it wasn’t supposed to have a signare.

All too soon Varvara had to leave to be back before morning. She felt a bit like little Cinderella and had to laugh at the comparison.


	5. Wind (Harry Potter Ginny Weasley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back with the angst, this time with very little fluff. Sorry.

Ginny felt the wind whipping through her hair and ripping at her clothes and let out a laugh of pure and unadulterated joy. This was what it felt like to live and she couldn’t believe she had been ready to put that behind her. Had been ready to let Riddle win. 

Even now she could hear the venomous hissing in the back of her head, telling her that she would fall, that she should fall, should die. But when Ginny went into a dive and pulled up just before the ground got too close her own feeling of success and accomplishment drowned out the hateful words. 

Being away from the dementors during the holiday certainly helped Ginny feel better as well. While they hadn’t ever gotten close again as they did on the train, she could always feel their cold hands creep into her mind whenever she was out on the school grounds. Which meant flying wasn’t an option and Ginny hated that. 

She didn’t know how Harry could stand it each and every Quidditch practice, he had been even worse off than her. (He did fall during the game against Hufflepuff, blacking out when the dementors got to him, but he didn’t seem troubled during practice.)

Maybe whatever made him survive the Killing Curse was protecting him even now. That thought made Ginny angry. Why couldn’t she have protection from the bloody dementors? Ron said Lupin offered Harry to teach him a spell after the incident on the Quidditch pitch. Maybe Ginny could ask Harry to teach her as well? 

The hissing voice of Riddle scoffed at that thought, she was barely able to say good morning, much less hold a conversation with Harry. Ginny didn’t even know why. She didn’t have a crush! He just made her nervous for some reason. 

“GINEVRA WEASLEY! YOU WILL SLOW DOWN RIGHT THIS SECOND!” Her mum’s magnified voice reached Ginny’s ears and she rolled her eyes. She wasn’t even that fast. 

But she slowed down obediently and landed next to her mother who shooed her into the kitchen to help with the cooking.

Later that night Ginny lay awake in her bed and poked at the part of her mind that sounded like Riddle. 

“Are you him?“ Ginny whispered into the dark. 

_Not quite,_ answered the hissing voice. _I am more. Let me teach you._

‘Seems I’m not going crazy after all,’ Ginny thought, not reacting to the demand and falling asleep soon after.


	6. Angel (Good Omens)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very long, since I’m preparing for my birthday party. But please enjoy! (Also, I couldn't resist a little Good Omens with that prompt.)

Cowley had never been one for Christmas, too much bad connotation leftover from Her religions. Or rather the interpretation by Her “worldly” representatives. Those men were far too focused on their power for Crowley’s liking. 

But seeing his angel get excited at all the pretty lights and the creativity and the love in December was nearly worth the hassle of getting a tree. And miracle it to look perfect. 

But then the Them insisted on decorating it together with Aziraphale and it all became a bit more to Crowley’s liking. Chaos breaking out over which ornament to use for which part of the tree. Whether or not fake snow should be miracled or put on with cotton wool. Friendly fights over who got to place the star on the top. 

Cowley sipped their eggnog and watched it, smiling slightly, their eyes for once not hidden behind dark glasses. 

“You seem pleased,” Aziraphale remarked from their side. 

Crowley snorted. “Of course I am, Angel. Chaos and petty fights are always delightful." 

"And here I thought it was seeing us all happy and alive that has you smiling like that,” Aziraphale teased with a gentle smile. 

Crowley inclined their head, neither denying or admitting anything. 


	7. Ashes and soot (Harry Potter x Luna Lovegood)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame rayshippouuchiha for resurrecting my love for Harry x Luna… ;)

Harry brushed the ashes and the soot off his robes and laughed at Luna’s startled face. He didn’t think she had planned her experiment to go that way. 

“That was an interesting reaction,” she muttered, pulling one of the pencils out of her top knot and jotted something down on the block of paper that was wondrously clean (as Harry had spelt it to be before gifting it to her). 

“What were you trying to achieve?” Harry asked with some amusement. 

Luna wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s supposed to be a surprise for you." 

Harry stepped up to her and kissed one sooty cheek. "Maybe you can give me a hint?”

“I know you don’t like the loud bangs of fireworks,” Luna hedged, leaning into his side. Harry easily slipped his arm around her shoulders. 

“Were you trying to make fireworks that are silent?” Harry asked with a smile, touched by his wife’s thoughtfulness. 

“No, but that’s an excellent idea!” Luna exclaimed, brightening up. “I was trying to make sparklers in different colours." 

She stepped forward and wrote something down in the margin of her notes. Then she turned back around and hugged Harry around his middle, laying her chin on his chest so she was looking up at him.

“You’re a wonderful husband, do you know that?” Luna asked softly, still smiling brightly. 

“And you’re a wonderful wife,” Harry answered, completing their ritual. “And McGonagall wants both of us for Hogwarts, you know?”

“Settling down?” Luna asked, a slight frown appearing on her face. “But we haven’t been to so many places yet!”

“Well, there still are the breaks for that,” Harry pointed out reasonably. “And I’m sure your students won’t mind overmuch if you tell them about all the wonderful beings you saw over the break.”

“Could we take weekend trips?” Luna wondered, stepping away to rummage through the box holding her beakers and other glass potion equipment.

“I’m certain,” Harry said with conviction. “We should have enough portkeys to go anywhere you want.”

“Then tell Minerva that I’d be happy to teach at Hogwarts,” Luna said with a bright smile, already puttering around at her workbench again.


	8. Warm bath (RoL Miriam Stephanopolous)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy Miriam Stephanopolous content because that woman deserves a break!

Miriam was not one for sentimentality. Or so the entire nick believed and it certainly was in her favour to let them believe that. But once she arrived home, hearing Pam’s favourite radio station from the kitchen and smelling their favourite scented candles a soft smile would appear on Miriam’s face. 

Especially tonight. Especially after that stakeout. And chase. And the dressing down.

With a deep sigh, Miriam set her trusty “Old Lady’s Purse” (as Pam had nicknamed it) down and toed her shoes off to walk into the kitchen. Which of course was dark this time in the night. Or at least it should have been.

On the kitchen counter behind the door a LED candle was flickering and against it leaned a note. It read: _“Take me.”_

Puzzled Miriam picked the candle up. It revealed a smaller note: _“Fridge.”_

Turning to the fridge, the candle still in hand, Miriam discovered another note: _“Inside.”_

She opened the door hesitantly, half-aware that any enemy with a grudge could have done this. Inside the fridge, she found a beautiful cupcake with red topping that was decorated with little, white hearts.

In front of the cupcake, another note waited for Miriam. _“Upstairs bathroom. Take me.”_

Miriam took the cupcake, closing the fridge door with her hip and went into the hallway to go upstairs. She was still carrying the candle and was feeling slightly confused and apprehensive by now but at the same time, a small fluttery feeling spread through her stomach. 

The bathroom door was partially open and a soft, flickering light painted the upper step in gold. (This was the moment Miriam totally threw all caution in the wind because she was convinced that no enemy of hers would be so cheesy. That could only be her wife.)

And indeed, when Miriam carefully pushed open the bathroom door she saw her beloved Pam lying in the bathtub and grinning like a lunatic. “You found me!”

“I did,” Miriam answered, with a bemused laugh. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

“Not that long,” Pam assured her, motioning for Miriam to step closer. “Alex texted me when you left for the night and I know how long you drive from the station here at this time of the night, soo…I thought you might like a warm bath.”

Miriam grinned. “I assume you’ll want me to join you in there?”

“Yes! And then we can drink wine and eat that cupcake and you can relax some,” Pam said with a bright smile. “Come on, Miri. I know you want it.”

Miriam laughed and put the cupcake and the candle down. “Alright, but only if you ask nicely.”


	9. Festive (Harry Potter Minerva McGonagall)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now polished, I must have been half asleep while writing it the first time!

Minerva McGonagall really enjoyed the winter. You had to when you were living somewhere where winter meant half of the year and not just one or two months. But Minerva really did enjoy the season. 

She could admit that sometimes the cold made her cranky and the long days could get depressing. But that was what why Christmas was right around the longest day of the year: so the night would seem a little shorter. Or so her Gramma had told her when Minerva was young. 

Now she was teaching at Hogwarts, had been for a few decades already, and every year she was looking forward to the Christmas feast. The weeks leading up to it might be filled with work for her, teaching and preparing decorations, but the feast itself often helped Minerva to relax. 

Seldom there were more than twenty students there and usually, everyone was in quite a good mood. The elves outdid themselves and they never forgot to make a small plum pudding with the recipe Minerva’s mum gifted to her when she turned eighteen. 

During the festive season, Minerva often thought about the homes she sent her students back to. She hoped that those whose family didn’t allow them to escape their circumstances would take a little heart in the gifts she and the other heads of the houses sent out each year. 

It had been young Severus who had come up with the idea and Minerva, Filius and Pomona had heartily agreed. The gifts were anonymous and charmed to only reach their recipients when they were alone. They looked innocuous enough, something Minerva came up with, so anyone who wasn’t meant to see them would see something unimportant like a bookmark or a scribbled note.

(Late at night Minerva wondered whether Tom would have liked such a gift or whether had truly been fully evil since before he came to Hogwarts. In her heart she doubted it, but Albus couldn’t have been so wrong about something so big.)


	10. Once a year (Marvel Pre-Clint Barton/Phil Coulson Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of a story that grew a bit out of proportion! Second part coming on the 18th of December!

Once a year Phil still got out the cookbook his sister had gifted to him when he was thirteen and she was eleven. Phil was sure she had saved money for at least a few months even though she had bought it second-hand. Someone had left scribbles in the margin and Phil enjoyed reading the sassy remarks and sometimes tried the variations of the recipe the previous owner suggested. 

The only hint as to their identity was found in the dedication on the first page: "From Martha to Clint, one day you're going to be a star baker." 

Phil sometimes imagined who this Clint might be and why he gave away the cookbook he had seemingly received as a gift when he was still young. At least if his handwriting was any indication. The letters looked like the ones of a child and later like a teen's. 

In his imagination, Clint was a kind-hearted man who must be at least a decade older than Phil now. He imagined Clint baking for a big family or a big group of friends because some recipes had quadrupled measurements written next to the original ones. Clint probably liked to joke around and was witty. 

This year however was different. This year Phil decided to go and investigate who this mysterious guy was. It was an errand that got him away from his family and allowed him to stretch his analytical muscles a bit while he was away from work. Or at least as away from SHIELD he would ever be. Marcus had insisted. 

The little antique bookshop was still right where Phil remembered it to be. The owner was an older man, who, as Phil knew, never forgot a customer. 

"Philip Coulson, what brings you back to me?" Harrison asked with a genuine smile when Phil entered. 

"I'm looking for someone who sold you a book," Phil explained with an answering warm smile. He had always liked this shop. 

"Did you bring the book?" Harrison asked, coming around the counter to stand in front of Phil who pulled out his cookbook. "Ah yes, your sister Joan bought it for you, right?" 

Phil nodded, smiling at the memory. "For my thirteenth birthday." 

"Right," Harrison said, his mind clearly elsewhere. "I remember this one. He came in every year or so, buying new books and selling old ones. He came with the circus until about, I don't know, five years ago or so?" 

"Do you remember his name?" Phil asked hopefully. 

"No, I don't think he ever told it to me," Harrison shook his head. "But I remember the name of the circus: Carson's. They stopped coming shortly after your boy did."

Phil nodded thoughtfully and thanked Harrison for his help before leaving the bookshop to find the closest human-free area. That happened to be a park bench at the center of the small neighborhood park. 

There he pulled out his work phone and called his second favorite colleague. "Hello Sitwell, I know Fury forbid you to answer my calls while I'm on leave but I need your help on a non-work thing."

"What do you need, Coulson?" Sitwell asked with barely concealed amusement. 

"Can you track down the name of the circus Hawkeye used to work with before going solo?" Phil asked innocently, fully aware that it would sound like a work question after all.

"I thought you said it wasn't a work thing?" Sitwell sounded suspicious now, but Phil could hear the clicking of a keyboard so he wasn't overly concerned. 

"Just want to cross-check something," Phil assured him needlessly. "I promise it isn't work-related." 

Sitwell sighed and gave up. "Got your information. The circus was named Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders." 

Phil exhaled slowly. "Alright, thanks, Sitwell. Happy holidays." 

Clint Barton, better known as Hawkeye, apparently had once been a very enthusiastic baker.


	11. Chimney (Original Work Satan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first and likely only original writing I will ever post. Enjoy!

Satan stared at the letter in his hands. Something like this had happened before, once or twice in the last fifty human-years. But this one was a little different. Usually, he’d sent one of the winter demons, Krampus for example really liked gifting instead of punishing. 

This kid. Well, Satan recognized the patronym and the last name. It was registered for one of the seventh circle rooms since the human had been five years old. 

And the first name was special as well. Little Lucia was named after the light Satan had once brought when he was still an angel. 

_“Dear Satan, I want to see you for Xmas, because Tommy in school says you don’t exist but I don’t believe him. You have to exist. I don’t want any presents, Papa wouldn’t like that. Please come. Your Lucia Petrovna Zimina."_

Satan sighed deeply and snapped his fingers. "Krampus! Get your furry ass in here.”

“Sir?” Krampus appeared out of the shadows, his head tilted. “Another kid?”

“Yeah, but this one’s different,” Satan sighed, still looking at the letter. “She even drew a little Christmas tree in the corner and it has a little kitty." 

Krampus nodded sagely. "They like to do that." 

"Can you get me a Santa suit?” Satan asked, putting the letter down and standing up to get himself a book from his shelf. “Red and white I believe. Well, the red is nice, but why the white?" 

"I think it’s because of the snow,” Krampus said slowly, tapping his chin. 

He was going to do his best to convince this child because she certainly deserved some love and hope in her life. 

Satan was prepared for the worst when he entered the home late on the 24th of December. He had made sure the Zimins were following American tradition, not the Orthodox one. 

He came through the chimney as was custom and arrived in…a wonderfully decorated living room. There were self-made tree ornaments, some clearly made by a small child a long time ago. 

“Santa!” The voice of a little girl startled Satan. 

Turning around his glamour slipped for a second and the little girl screamed at the same time as he did. 

When she calmed down, she said: “You’re not Santa.” Then she frowned and sighed. “I spelled it wrong again, didn’t I?" 

Satan slowly went down to his knees. "I’m afraid you did." 

"Does Santa not exist?” Lucia asked, sounding morose. 

“He does exist,” Satan told the little girl with as gentle a voice as he could. “What magic do you think sent your letter to me? The magic of Christmas." 

"Really?” Lucia immediately brightened up.

“Really,” Satan assured her. “May I ask you something?" 

Lucia nodded. "Of course, Satan." 

"Does your Papa love you?” Satan asked carefully. 

“He’s the best!” Lucia exclaimed with a huge smile. “He has been doing my hair every day since Mama got sick! And he always reads me stories and makes rabbit apples!" 

Suddenly Satan feels another presence in the apartment. Someone enters the hallway with quiet footsteps. Satan rights himself and steps into the hallway. Within seconds there is a gun in his face and only a quick magic trick keeps Lucia from seeing her father like that. 

"Papa! I wrote Santa to come, but I spelled it wrong again so Satan came instead,” Lucia quickly told her father. “Please don’t be angry, we were just talking. And I told him not to bring any gifts because I know you have something for me already!”

Satan knew that he would blush if he could. This man might have a room reserved in hell. But this little girl was nothing if not loved. 

“Mr. Zimin,” Satan, remembering mortal manners, stretched out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you. But I’m afraid I must be off, I cannot stray too far from my realm for too long." 

"Wait!” Lucia called, running back into the living room. She returned with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. “That’s for you!" 

"Well, I believe technically it’s for Santa,” Satan pointed out, rather charmed by the gesture. 

“Take it!” Lucia insisted. “You came and you even got yourself a suit, you deserve some cookies!" 

Satan laughed and took the cookies. "Thank you, little light.” And with a bow he vanished into a cloud of sulfur planning to look up why the father who was so loving to his little girl was scheduled for a room in the seventh circle. That couldn’t be right. 

(It wasn’t, it was an accounting error. Apparently one of the scribe demons had made a spelling mistake. Detective Peter Zimin did only belong into the first circle, Limbo, because _someone_ upstairs insisted that unbaptized Christians shouldn’t get into Heaven. Satan remembered why he fell all those millennia ago. At least limbo wasn’t so bad, a bit confusing at first, but so was the real world.)


	12. Bah humbug (RoL Peter/Beverley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a lot with this, but I think I’m mostly happy with it now.

“Bah! Humbug!” I spat as softly as I could, making the kids sitting around me giggle madly. I continued reading in the quiet whispering the children were used to. I had been rather surprised when I learned that the Quiet People did indeed know Charles Dickens. And they loved him! Especially the story of Ebeneezer Scrooge.

Admittedly I had been even more surprised when Zach asked me to come to the school he was running together with Lizzie. I had assumed that he wanted to keep it separate from the Isaacs as much as possible. But now I was reading A Christmas Carol to a group of Quiet People children and Bev was baking in another part of the school with a second group. Originally Zach had invited Molly, but even with Foxglove at her side Molly still didn’t venture too far outside her comfort zone.

I continued reading, making all the voices and sounds as was expected of me. The children were enraptured and when we were called for tea time there were quite a few not so quiet complaints, but I was thankful for the saving because my voice was starting to give out.

I stepped up next to Beverley and slipped an arm around her waist. “You’re glowing more than ever.”

“It’s just so wonderful to see them so excited,” Bev answered, clearly holding back some hormonal tears.

I grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “I know.”


	13. Family (Marvel Happy Tower AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some found family feels, Happy Tower AU, and Tony has a big heart and emotional intelligence… It’s utter self-indulgence!

For Tony family never had been defined by blood. From a very young age, he had decided that Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis were his family instead of his absent Father and Mother. In college, it had been Rhodey and Dum-E and they were later joined by Pepper, Happy, Butterfingers and You. And that had been that for the next twenty years for Tony. The only change being the creation of JARVIS after the real Jarvis died in 2005. 

So when the Avengers finally, finally moved in after the Mandarin and Washington debacles, Steve with an unexpected plus one, Tony just accepted that his family had grown a few more annoying siblings. 

And their partners, at least in Bruce’s and Clint’s case. Although Tony didn’t want to know which gods Clint bribed to get them to give him Coulson back.

It was almost…cozy most of the time and by the time Christmas came around most of them had gotten used to living with each other and had learned to respect certain boundaries. 

So it was rather strange when Natasha graciously fell out of an air vent (more a Clint thing really) into Tony’s workshop (which only Steve normally invaded, aided by JARVIS) and plopped herself onto a workbench (no one ever dared to do that). 

“What’s up, Lady Red?” Tony asked, turning off his soldering iron. 

“I want you to help me find Barnes so he can be home for Hanukkah,” Natasha told him, her tone direct and her eyes fixed on his. 

“Why?” Tony asked, trying to put all the ‘He killed my parents.’, 'He trained you ruthlessly.’ and 'He tried to kill Steve, Sam and you more than once.’ into it without actually saying anything. 

“Because I know what it means to be out in the cold during the holidays and I wasn’t even raised on any holidays,” Natasha said, avoiding Tony’s imploring gaze in a surprising show of shame. 

Tony stared at her for a moment longer and then he pulled his gloves off and stepped up to the closest holo-screen. “JARVIS, where is Sergeant Barnes currently?”

“He was last seen on the Prager Straße in Dresden, Germany about thirty minutes ago,” JARVIS answered promptly, displaying the CCTV footage. “Sadly there aren’t that many CCTV cameras around German cities, so I’m not able to tell you something more precise at the moment." 

Tony could feel Natasha staring at him. "Know thy enemy?” Tony half said, half asked but Natasha only sent him a disbelieving look. “Go get him, Nat. Quinjet’s on the roof.”

Natasha graced him with one of her rare, true smiles and left through the door. Tony shook his head fondly. He had assumed that the former Soviet spy would like to give the same chance she had gotten to another former brainwashed assassin. The next weeks certainly would be trying, but Tony thought he might be ready to forgive Barnes at least, if not Hydra, for killing his parents. His psychologist would certainly be very smug about it next week


	14. Not a creature was stirring (RoL Thomas Nightingale Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two, because the first is so short.

Not a creature was stirring when Thomas stepped out into the cold night air outside Casterbrook. He absentmindedly massaged his hands. Having carved halfway through the night again, they were stained with blood, iron and wood splinters. He had decided to carve by hand so it would take longer, be harder.

Thomas didn’t intend to torture himself, the Nazis had done that often enough during the war - and his own people as well, after, well… _after_ \- Thomas just wanted to revel in the feeling. And it covered the pain that sometimes still shot through his thumb when the weather was changing. They were finally having some snow, a thin layer covered the front lawn and Thomas smiled, remembering many a snowball fight during the winter spent at the school.

Christmas was coming and while Thomas intellectually knew that, his heart refused to grow warmer as it had before…

Thomas lit a fag with _Lux_ on his fingertip, the burn stinging slightly, and dragged the smoke down into his lungs. Maybe he would be done by Christmas. Then he wouldn’t have to come out here during the holidays.


	15. Midnight (RoL Thomas Nightingale Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two, enjoy!

He arrived at the Folly in the early morning, Molly greeting him at the back entrance with a disapproving frown. Thomas was getting used to that frown, having seen it many a morning since he started carving.

At first, he had tried staying over at the school but he felt as if the ghosts were pulling at his brain every time he closed his eyes. Once he fell asleep the ghosts of his unit started screaming and wailing, and the gunfire started to attack his ears. More than once he felt the icy waters of the Kyll closing over him, more than once he heard the werewolves crashing through the underbrush behind.

But if he stopped carving around midnight and drove to London he was at the wrong point of exhaustion. Thomas had felt his eyes close involuntarily sometimes on the drive back, and one close encounter with a cow had shocked him enough that he finally gave in and stayed longer.

This meant staying up till the wee hours, fending off the panicked thoughts with painful work and lots of steady light. And once Thomas stepped outside and lit a cigarette he was in the same state of mind that had allowed him to return home after Ettersberg. Onward was the only possibility, rest lying miles ahead still.

Thus Thomas got used to stopping by a bakery on his way back from Casterbrook, buying fresh cake or croissants to appease Molly when he once again spent the night awake and the day asleep. The doctors had said he would feel better with something to do. They hadn’t said that he would have to keep his mind constantly occupied until he passed out from exhaustion.


	16. Baby, please come home (Marvel Pre-Spideypool)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only character I could feasibly imagine singing Mariah Carey, so here you go: my first published foray into Spideypool!

Peter was on patrol, minding his own business (and that of some muggers, a would-be rapist, and lost elder man) when Deadpool appeared out of nowhere. Quite literally - Peter assumed the teleporter the Merc with a Mouth was rumored to have was to blame for that. 

It certainly startled Peter enough he nearly fell off the roof. Or maybe the enthusiastic if somewhat wonky intonation of Christmas by Mariah Carey was to blame. Deadpool had just entered the second chorus when he noticed Peter and promptly directed the song at him. 

“Christmaaaas! Baby, please come home!” Deadpool intoned dramatically, putting a hand to his chest and stretching the other out to Peter. 

The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that said outstretched hand was dangling from the arm it was supposed to be attached to.

“Really?” Peter grouched, squatting down on the edge of the roof. “That’s pretty gross." 

Deadpool stopped singing and pouted at Peter. "In my defense, I didn’t know I was gonna have an audience. What are you doing on my roof anyway?" 

"Your roof?” Peter asked, disbelief and confusion coloring his voice. “How can this be your roof?" 

"Well, okay, it’s not exactly my roof, since I don’t own the building,” Deadpool admitted with a shrug, while he secured his hand back to the stump of his arm with some tape. “But I live in the building so…" 

Peter huffed a laugh. "Alright. I didn’t know where you live, for the record. And I’ll probably have forgotten by tomorrow." 

"So you weren’t here for me? Waiting anxiously for me to return home?” Deadpool asked dramatically, again putting his hand against his chest. This time the severed one though. 

“Nah, I was just patrolling,” Peter shrugged, settling more comfortably on the low wall at the edge of the roof. “How did you get your hand severed?" 

"Ah, ah, ah,” Deadpool said, shaking the finger of his, presumably, uninjured hand at him. “That’s a second base question I’m afraid. So unless you’re willing to come downstairs and eat tacos with me…You will be left in puzzlement." 

Peter considered the offer. He wasn’t that curious, but he was hungry and, as any college student would know, you never say no to free food. "Okay then, lead the way." 

Deadpool stared at him. "Oookay, I did not expect that to work, the author didn’t even think of that until, like, two paragraphs ago. But, gift horse and all that. Come on then, Spider-Boy, into the lion’s den! Or rather the badger's, did you know the writers decided that I’m a Hufflepuff? I think it’s pretty neat.”

Peter followed Deadpool down the stairs with a bemused grin on his face.


	17. PLACEHOLDER

PLACEHOLDER TO BE FILLED


	18. Exhausted (Marvel Pre-Clint Barton/Phil Coulson Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised second part from the one I posted on the 10th! It grew out of proportion again.

Clint returned to his dingy apartment at three in the afternoon, and while that sounded like a normal enough time, it really wasn’t when one had been up since two in the morning on the previous day. His limbs and joints felt rubbed raw and his head was trying to split itself apart. But all that was forgotten when Clint finally opened his eyes, which he had closed when he entered the apartment, not particularly wanting to see the mess he had left behind.

On the couch, watching The Nanny of all things, was a Suit. Clint’s brain recognized the Suit even if it couldn’t place him because it was exhausted. But somehow Clint couldn’t bring himself to feel startled or afraid. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign for his mental health. Probably not.

For now, he opted for putting down his stuff and shuffling over to the coffee machine. If he was to deal with a (possibly) friendly home invader he needed coffee so strong it would make a Navy Seal hear colors. 

“Want some too?” Clint asked, turning around to catch the Suit’s answer. He took the dismissive gesture for a no. His ears still hadn’t stopped ringing after that last hit he had taken and Clint didn’t hear that well on his good days. 

While he waited for the coffee (read: tar) run through the machine Clint turned back around to watch the Suit. Belatedly he realized that the Suit’s lips were moving. 

“If you’re talking to me, I can’t hear you,” Clint informed the Suit who turned around to face him then. 

“Sorry,” the Suit signed. “ASL not good." 

"There should be a pen and some paper around here somewhere,” Clint said, turning back to the coffee machine to grab the pot. He swirled the coffee around a bit to make it cool off, but Clint lost his patience quickly and just started to drink from the pot, which…ow, hot. 

The Suit raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him and that finally kicked the memory Clint had been trying to find loose. Boston, last year, the Suit had nearly got him in cuffs before Clint could pull a miraculous departure. 

But there was something else itching at Clint’s brain. Something far earlier, back when he was still with Carson’s. He continued to slurp his coffee and watched the Suit. 

He, in turn, pulled a tablet from his bag and started typing quickly. “I’m not here in any official capacity." 

"I thought as much, coming alone would be a bit cocky even for you,” Clint answered, putting the coffee pot under the machine preparing a second pot. 

He turned back around to find the tablet practically in his face. “I don’t want to arrest you anymore." 

Clint didn’t know what surprised him more, the ‘I’ or the 'anymore’. "What do you mean?" 

The Suit typed quickly. "I want to recruit you." 

"I thought you weren’t here in any official capacity,” Clint quoted the Suit’s words back at him. 

“Not today, no,” the Suit typed and then held up a finger as he went back to his bag. 

Clint took the coffee pot out and was suddenly glad he wasn’t drinking when he turned around and saw what the Suit was holding in his hands. 

“Where did you get that?” Clint asked, his voice felt hard and cold even though he couldn’t really hear himself. 

The Suit switched to another document on the tablet and held it out to Clint. He had to put down the coffee pot before he could accept the tablet and the book from the Suit. 

The document detailed how the Suit’s sister had gifted the book to the Suit ten years ago. And how he had kept and cherished it ever since. The Suit even commented on how much he had liked Clint’s variation on the chocolate cookies. 

Clint finished reading, aware that he was taking longer than socially acceptable, but dammit he was running on coffee and fumes. He looked up at the Suit. “Why are you giving it to me now?" 

Taking back the tablet the Suit wrote: "Gesture of goodwill? I barely use it anymore, don’t really have the time." 

Clint laughed disbelievingly. "But why track me down and give it to me? And since when do you know where I live?” He would have to move out after this, which was a pity because he liked the apartment. 

“Gave me something to do while I was on leave,” the Suit wrote. “And once I found out your name from your former boss it was rather easy." 

Clint winced. There was a reason why he had hesitated to use his real name for the apartment, but at that point, he had burned all his identities so he thought he might as well use his real name. 

"Don’t worry, he’s in prison now,” the Suit wrote with a reassuring smile, either reading Clint’s wince right or interpreting it as fear of his former boss. Which wasn’t really wrong either. 

“I’ll get going, let you sleep,” the Suit wrote, putting his tablet away. He pulled out a card and gave it to Clint. 

> _If you want to go steady:  
> _ _Philip J. Coulson  
> _ _202-555-0130_

When Clint looked up the door was closing behind the Suit and Clint got a short opportunity to admire the Suit’s butt which looked seriously nice in those pants. He put the card and the book down on the kitchen counter and dragged himself to the couch turning the TV to Dog Cops and quickly falling asleep. This was definitely a tomorrow Clint problem.


End file.
